You find out you're pregnant. You stare at that little white plastic stick and are amazed at how monumental that little extra pink line is. Your head starts swimming with questions and excitement and anxieties and I can't believe its. You pray and you pray and you pray.
You start to not feel real well. You get nauseous. You have to swallow these enormous prenatal vitamin horsepills for the good of the baby and you gag on them. You puke. You are tired. You are bone tired. You are barely able to make dinner, you are barely able to keep the house picked up, you are barely able to hold onto the routines that help your household run. Your kids are wondering what has happened to their mommy. You are cranky and irritable. You are trying to find foods that will help you feel better. You are tired of figuring out what you want to eat. You are really sick of seeing Pizza Hut commercials on tv, because every time you've been pregnant, they make your stomach turn the worst. You live on bread and toast and bagels and cottage cheese and egg salad. You think, What have we done? What were we thinking?
Then you start to feel a little better. Your stomach is quieter. You are not quite so tired. You notice one day that it's 2pm and you are still upright instead of laying down. You start doing a little more. Your spirits are better. You are less cranky and less irritable. You make a whole dinner, from scratch, and actually eat a little of it. You start telling people that you are pregnant and bask in their joy and excitement. You start getting more excited, too. You go to the doctor's and everything looks good. You start to be less anxious. You talk about the baby and slowly, ever so slowly, your brain starts making room for this extra person who will be joining your family. You start to get a clearer view of you family of the future. You love the way it sounds when you hear yourself say, "This is my third." Instead of wondering how this baby will fit into your life, you now can't imagine life without it.
You begin to fall madly, deeply and fiercely in love with this growing baby inside of you. You start to feel, ever so subtly, the branches and vines and tendrils of mother love start to wrap themselves around this baby, your baby, this concrete expression of love between you and your husband, and these branches bind you and this baby together. Forever. Unbreakable.
And that's where I'm at.